oklahoma

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Whenever I drink McDonald's coffee on cold mornings, I remember those cold Saturdays on my college campus in the vacant middle of a sacerdotal sprawled-out city, walking around before the world was awake. I love now what I felt at the time was the world's innocence and not mine, and now here where I am, I can't seem to find. 

In the city, in Oklahoma City, you can see everything. Maybe it's nothing you want to see. I've put in hours of miles into walking Downtown, Midtown, Uptown, suburbs, crouched in buses with drug dealers and the blind, and some lingering dialysis patients. Into the fabric of it.

When it gets cold, wherever it gets cold, I remember then. It's a weaker cold here in the East. But I remember there are still little holes in the world where you can be nobody. You can spread out in your vagrancy. Embrace the evil of puritanical cold in the hell of aimless embargo. 

But there are (were, and are still I  assume) at least a few autumn days with nice houses and floating-down leaves that feel like a movie. When it's worth putting on yesterday's clothes to get a dollar's worth of coffee at 5 in the morning. To nurse back to life something you tried to kill the night before, to be alone with these things before they disappear, to suck in the freshest freest air of the day and of any day. To warm up hands. To be nobody in the city with the other stumbling nobodys. 

 

wordTim Holtoklahoma, proseComment